But most notably, the entire bathing house appeared to be built of fernpaper panels. More than twenty of them, by my count. And all white and pure as snow.
Fayazi’s guards opened the door to the bathing house, and I entered. The space within was dominated by a complex bathing apparatus built of brass and bronze pipes. The hot water was fed in from above, I reckoned, and then distributed into a circular set of tall spigots that were accompanied by a small crank. When one turned it, the apparatus would feed water up through the spigots to rain down upon the huge circular, white-tiled tub about them.
“The steam room, he called it,” said Fayazi, standing at the door. “It was what soothed his joints. They had many grafts to help him with his age—applied through an awful process, inserted into the bones of his thighs—but he always said hot water helped most.”
I touched one of the bronze handles, thinking.
“We considered acquiring some of the more extreme vitality suffusions from the Empire, you know,” Fayazi continued behind me. “The ones used by the imperial conzulates, for example. But the side effects seemed unwelcome.” She watched me. “Are you familiar with the conzulates, Signum?”
I knew of conzulates—they were the only rank higher than prificto, and essentially directed the Iyalets—but I knew nothing of their nature. I shook my head.
“Conzulates never age, and never stop growing,” said Fayazi quietly. “They grow and grow and grow. Some get to be about as big as houses—and just about as mobile—before they’re released from their service and given the sword. When taking that into consideration, steam seemed a much more preferable choice…” She paused. “You don’t think the air in here is still tainted, do you?”
I ignored her and walked around the tub, noticing how the edge had been stained here and there with rings of red and yellow. Wine, I supposed, from many cups or casks or ewers placed there during long baths. I traced one ring with my finger.
“Well?” demanded Fayazi. “Do you?”
I walked to the far wall and stooped and studied the lining between the fernpaper panels. The seam was filled with a dark paste—still soft.
“It likely would be dangerous in here still,” I said. I looked over my shoulder at her. “Unless the air had been vented out, taking the spores with it.”
Fayazi was silent at that.
“Were the fernpaper panels in here replaced, ma’am?” I asked.
“No,” she said simply. “Not recently, to my knowledge.”
“Are you sure? This seam is soft and new, and removing any panels would allow the air to circulate.”
“The lady has spoken her mind,” said the axiom sharply. “And she said no. You know more of this contagion than we do. How should we comprehend its behaviors?”
“There was a fernpaper miller that fulfilled an order,” I said. “His name was Suberek. We have indication that he delivered this fernpaper order here.”
“We have no knowledge of this,” said the axiom.
I ignored her and looked to Fayazi. “It would be a very large order, ma’am. And being as this fernpaper work appears new, it makes me wonder.”
There was another awkward beat. Fayazi glanced at her axiom, then shrugged. “My house and staff are vast,” she said. “I do not know everything that occurs here. Perhaps an order was placed. If so, I do not know where it is now. Do you know all that the Iudex does, or all the Empire, Signum?”
“And you still deny that the ten dead Engineers were ever here at all,” I said.
“We do not invite junior officers to our events,” the axiom said simply. “Unless it is at special request.”
I gazed at the three of them: the gentrywoman, the axiom, and the engraver. Studying their faces was like trying to read emotion in a piece of polished glass. I thought myself contained and controlled, yet these were indisputably masters at it.
“Was the poison delivered here, Signum?” Fayazi asked.
“It was delivered here, yes,” I said. “But the agent of contagion isn’t here. Because the water isn’t heated here, is it?”
“No,” she said. “It is not.”
“Then take me there, please.”
* * *
—
I HAD TO climb a ladder onto the back roof of the halls to access the water tank. It was a huge contraption, bigger than a slothik or a crackler, and its bronzed surface shone like a miniature sun. Fayazi’s coterie watched from below as I aligned my eye with the length of its shootstraw pipe, which ran down to the roof of the bathing house.
“How does the water get up here?” I asked.
“The servants bring it up in buckets,” called Fayazi. “How else? Then they light the stonewood fires beneath and send it down to the baths.”
“And this is what happened after the party, ma’am?”
“Yes. Of course.”
I opened the top of the tank and peered in. It was wide and rounded with a small grate in the center.
And there, lying in the middle of the grate, was a small strip of something dark. Though it was hard to see in the shadows within the tank, I had no doubt what it was.
My eyes fluttered, and suddenly I was not leaning down into a water tank: I was back in Daretana, watching as Princeps Otirios held his hands up about eight smallspan apart.
A slender slip of grass…not big at all. Odd to think such a small thing could kill a man so horribly.
I swallowed as the memory released me. “That’s it,” I said hoarsely. “It’s still here.”
* * *
—
I RETURNED TO the coterie and informed them of what I’d found. “Don’t use or tamper with or touch any of the bathing mechanisms,” I told Fayazi. “I frankly shouldn’t have looked into the water tank. I’ll call the Apoths when I return, and they’ll dispose of the contagion accordingly.”
For the first time, Fayazi looked rattled. “But…but how did it get in there at all? We had guards at all the hallways, and…and for the love of Sanctum, we had telltales at the entries to the estate! We made all the attendees march past them as they entered! That’s how we keep contagion out!”
“Calm,” said the axiom quietly. “Calm yourself, mistress…” Again, her hand returned to Fayazi’s arm, gripping her tight.
I considered the situation. The estate was a giant place. And despite what Fayazi had just said, I knew such a giant place would offer many points of entry—but where to start?
I remembered what Ana had told me after catching Uxos: Projecting motives is a fool’s game. But how they do it—that’s a matter of matter, moving real things about in real space.
“How do the servants get up here?” I asked. “Do they take the same route we did?”
“They use the servants’ passages,” said the engraver. He pointed east along the walls. “The entrance is there, out of sight, but it is kept locked.”
I went to where he pointed and found a small, bland little door that had been built to blend in with the wall. I tried the knob, but it was locked tight.
“It was locked the day of the party?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And it was only unlocked before Kaygi took his bath?”
“Correct.”
“Is this the only servants’ door to this part of the house?”
“There is another servants’ door inside,” he said slowly. “Just past where we entered. But it is not well used.”
We crossed the parapet, reentered the hall, and came to the little door, which had been disguised as a stretch of wall. I tried the knob—and the door fell open, revealing a narrow, dark little passageway.
I peered at the knob. The bolt had been broken from its housing, like someone had pried at it with a length of iron.
The axiom stared at the broken knob, then turned to hiss at the engraver, “How did this escape your notice?”
I interrupted as he stammered to answer. “It’s possible the poisoner knew this door was little used,” I said. “But this must be how they came up. Does this passageway connect to the halls where the party was held?”